


Much Ado About Nothing

by koalathebear



Category: Beatrice Hyde-Clare Mysteries - Lynn Messina
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Much Ado About Nothing, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-01-10 23:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: I absolutely adore this series of books and am now in utter suspense for book five.  Fan fiction will have to fill the gap in the interim as Bea and Damien Matlock are my new OTP.  This fic will be comprised of a bunch of snippets.  Some scribbles are missing scenes, some are just my own imaginings.  They will be written out of order, but when I post them I'll put them in an order following book events.You can buy the complete series (so far)here.





	1. More than Middling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during chapter 4 _A Brazen Curiosity_ \- in the early stages of the Bea-Damien relationship.

Damien Matlock, the Duke of Kesgrave pretended to peruse the _London Daily Gazette_ even as he studied Miss Beatrice Hyde-Claire as, like the others, she discussed Mr Otley’s untimely demise. 

He hadn’t even registered her existence or visage when they had first been introduced. It had not merely been that she was too non-descript and beneath his notice … His mind had been far too focused on other matters and the woman was clearly unrelated to the Hyacinth scheme and Otley.

Until now.

Now, this infuriating dowd of a woman had very much thrust her way into his consciousness, stumbling clumsily and indelicately into his world. She crossed verbal swords with him, challenged him, irritated him and got him thoroughly wound up in knots – something that no one had ever managed to do before, least of all a woman.

If she’d been a beauty, then the sting might have been lessened to a certain extent … but he didn’t even have that as a consolation. Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare was as insipid as porridge and while not displeasing to the eye – there was absolutely nothing about her physically to draw a man’s eye. She was of average height, brown hair drawn back in a severe knot from a face that was plain in feature and pale in colouring.

And yet … and yet there was a lively intelligence in those deceptively mild eyes … a fierce passion and liveliness that she kept hidden beneath a façade of banality. 

Standing in the library above Otley’s lifeless body, he’d stared into her pale and shocked face and had a sudden realisation that the dab of a girl was daring to question him. No doubt she thought she was being subtle, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was interrogating him – analysing the scene and formulating her own theory about what had come to pass.

It was unpardonably outrageous, offensive and … intriguing.

Her younger cousin Flora was the female who had inherited the looks in the family. Nothing as dramatic as the incomparable Miss Otley of course, but Flora Hyde-Clare had auburn hair, white teeth and gentle hazel eyes that gave her an air of softness.

In contrast, Beatrice Hyde-Clare’s expression was either distracted or disapproving. There was also something unfeminine and incisive about the way she studied his face when he thought he wasn’t looking. She of all people knew that Otley’s death had not been a suicide but surely even such a graceless female as her did not have the poor judgment to challenge the matter.

“What do you think, your grace?” she demanded flatly, her eyes accusing. Next to her on the settee, her aunt gasped loudly in horror at her charge audaciously interrogating a peer of the realm – a Duke no less.

He lowered the corner of the broadsheet to look at her over the edge of the paper imperiously.

“About what?” he asked mildly, his tone disinterested.

“About why Mr Otley would kill himself,” she said bluntly and he was torn between horror and admiration at her brazenness. 

Their gazes met and locked. Despite himself, he felt a sense of unwilling admiration in his breast. There was clearly much more to the middling Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare than met the eye …


	2. Thoughtless Cruelty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during and after chapter 10 of _A Brazen Curiosity_ \- that wonderful moment scene when Kesgrave has scaled a tree to climb through a window into Bea’s bedchamber to discuss the murder case. Dialogue from the novel but it's my take on the scene.

Kesgrave laughed in genuine amusement at when Beatrice assured him that he would be apologising to her on the morrow. “What a delightful imagination you have, Miss Hyde-Clare. It’s a wonder no man has seized the opportunity to take you to wife.”

Beatrice’s expression changed immediately, becoming blank and still. The air of cosy intimacy that the easy banter had generated vanished as if it had never existed. Kesgrave immediately perceived the gravity of his misstep, discomfort and then displeasure crossing his face as he felt profound regret at his careless words. 

He had truly not meant to offend her. Admittedly, at first glance, she certainly had none of the qualities men of his station generally considered necessary in a wife—beauty, wealth, position, poise. Now, though - he knew now that she was clever, lively and filled with an intense curiosity and irreverence that he found positively fascinating. 

In any case, he had certainly not intended to utter words filled with such thoughtless cruelty. The informal banter between them had made his words unguarded and he had not thought of how his words could be interpreted by a woman in Beatrice’s position in life.

“You must forgive me. I spoke thoughtlessly, heedlessly. I never meant to imply there was any reason you should be married. I am sincerely sorry. Truly, I would never imply that you should be anything other than what you are. What you are is delightful,” he told her swiftly, hoping to repair the damage caused by his careless remark.

Alas, it was for naught. Beatrice leaped to her feet, clearly desirous of preventing him from saying anything else. He kept his expression bland but inwardly, he winced as he heard her suddenly professing shock at noticing the lateness of the hour before giving an almost comically exaggerated yawn. 

With a brittle note in her voice, she thanked him politely for dropping by, telling him that the discussion had been quite constructive for both of them. He regretted the sudden brusque primness of her tone, noting the return to awkward formality but knew that the accord between them had been severed – at least for that evening and he thanked her in return and bid her good night.

They both reached for the window at the same time, an awkward misstep that made both stare at one another sharply. As their fingers met along the bottom of the window, Beatrice jumped back as if burned by the contact. After that, she stood a short distance away while Kesgrave opened the window. 

He had, if he was honest, enjoyed their conversation immensely. The way that she had clearly forgotten who he was, his lofty station … for she had mocked hm for his pedantry, debated and planned with him as though they were equals. It had been refreshing for he was accustomed to the cloying sycophancy of those who sought to obtain his regard. It was unusual that someone, especially a woman like Beatrice Hyde-Clare was so forthright and direct with him.

Kesgrave climbed over the sill and settled onto the thick branch that knocked against Beatrice’s window. He turned around as if to speak, then, thinking better of it, offered her a tepid smile and half-hearted wave. Beatrice acknowledged both gestures with an equally hesitant nod and swiftly closed the window. He saw the glow of the candle through the glass pane move into the darkness of the room and gave a sigh.

Climbing back down the tree, he returned to his bedchamber conscious of feeling rather flat after their late night tête-à-tête. It had been a strange situation - the late hour, the informal setting, the convivial fire ... sitting in Beatrice Hyde-Clare’s bedroom of all places while she wore that ridiculously prim nightgown that looked as though it belonged to a maiden aunt. While Vera Hyde-Clare clearly spared no time or expense in clothing her own daughter in the latest fashions, the same did not apply towards the orphaned young woman who lived with them. Her dresses were always of the plainest and drabbest in appearance and while Flora Hyde-Clare’s hair was dressed with charming complexity, Beatrice’s hairstyles were always plain and simple.

He recalled how her hair had looked before the firelight, slightly tumbled from their braid and curling around her face. The flicker of the flames in the fireplace had cast colour into her usually pale face and her brown eyes had been positively snapping with emotion and liveliness, a sharp contrast to the bland and colourless young woman to whom he had originally been introduced.

He marvelled at himself for having made the decision to speak with Beatrice that evening. To be fair, it had proved the only way the two of them could converse. It was impossible for them to have a meaningful discussion in plain view of the others and Beatrice had made it clear she had information to convey … and so, despite the fact that he had not climbed a tree since he was a young boy, he found himself climbing up a tree and tapping on the window of Beatrice’s bedchamber.

If he had been discovered there, the consequences would have been grave indeed. The fact that Beatrice was six and twenty and plain would have been absolutely no protection … they would have been compromised beyond belief and matrimony would have been the inevitable consequence. The thought should have filled Kesgrave with terror and deterred from his intended course of action, but he had tossed caution to the wind.

It had been worth it. Notwithstanding the unfortunate conclusion of the evening, he had found their conversation and her company exhilarating. It made little sense to him. He who was used to debating his ideas with fellow peers in the House of Lords … he who had written comprehensive discourses while at Oxford … And yet there was something unique and compelling about Beatrice Hyde-Clare. Her exterior was deceptive, hiding a sharp and incisive mind … a wicked wit and a playful manner. He had told himself that his intellect was piqued by her cleverness, but that didn’t explain how his gaze had lingered on the curve of her lip, the way an errant curl had escaped her braid and brushed against her cheek.

No, it wouldn’t do. Notwithstanding her not inconsiderable intelligence, the likes of Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare was not for the likes of him. They were from different worlds and although there was a momentary intersection as they attempted to solve the mystery of Otley’s murderer – it was just that. 

Momentary. 

When he left the Lake District, he had no doubt that the impertinent and maddening Beatrice Hyde-Clare would become a distant memory.

*

_Set during chapter 13_

Kesgrave stood at the base of the tree, frowning to himself. He glanced up at Beatrice’s window. The events in the library had been difficult, particularly when the Runner had taken Lady Skeffington away. There had been no opportunity for the two of them to speak privately and somehow he knew that she wanted to speak with him as much as he wanted to speak with her…. To review the events together … to discuss and analyse …

If he climbed the tree .. then in minutes he would be back in her bedchamber, seated before the fire and talking with her again. He dearly wanted to learn of her ordeal at the hands of young Skeffington and the resourcefulness with which she had freed herself…. 

His hand tightened into a fist and his jaw clenched momentarily. With the murderer caught, going into her bedchamber seemed so much more unpardonable than before. He gave a short, bitter laugh. The desire to speak with her was almost overwhelming and yet he was also conscious of a sense of apprehension and wariness. He would have to be careful that this … connection, did not become more than it was. It was unsettling to say the least to realise that he almost craved her company … that nothing gave him more delight than seeing the look of pointed mockery in her brown eyes.

Muttering beneath his breath, he turned on his heel and walked away from the tree and returned to his room.


	3. A Notice in the London Daily Gazette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at the beginning of book 2: A Scandalous Deception.

He had learned that the Hyde-Clares had returned to London for the season from their home seat in Sussex. During the weeks following his own departure from Lakeview Hall, his thoughts had returned time and time again to the events that had taken place there – and in particular, to a certain Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare. 

Initially, he had told himself that at Lakeview Hall, the society had been limited to the Skeffingtons’ guests, a small assortment that in no way represented the usual company with which he associated. The fact that the middling Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare had piqued his interest had only been because they had shared a single purpose and there had been few distractions to claim his attention. 

In London, however, a man like Kesgrave, who had every advantage of wealth, status and disposition, did not lack for offers or diversions. Thus, he had initially been more than a little displeased with his preoccupation, a little disconcerted. Over time, he had found himself coming to terms with the fact that such a nobody continued to occupy his thoughts.

He was very much aware of the fact that Vera Hyde-Clare had made him promise to call upon the family when they were in London and that a visit from such an esteemed and august personage would be a coup for the household.

He told himself that his promise to call upon the Hyde-Clare family had been issued only out of a sense of politeness and there was no real expectation that he would actually call.

He told himself that he had no actual desire to call upon them. Scowling at his own dishonest, he turned the pages of the _London Daily Gazette_ as he lingered over his breakfast.

_“On Monday the 27th, in this city, Mr. Theodore Davies, youngest son of Mr. Harold Davies and devoted husband. His manners were most gentle, his affections ardent, his thoughtfulness was not to be surpassed, and he lived and died as became a humble Christian.”_

His lips twitched as he read of the death of the apocryphal young man who had been an invention of Miss Hyde-Clare’s ever abundant imagination during the visit at Lakeview Hall - a worthy young man whose existence had been fabricated purely for the sake of winning the confidence of the lovely Miss Otley …

It was remarkable that the few benign lines of text were sufficient to make him think of Miss Hyde-Clare although Miss Otley had made certain that everyone at the manor had heard Miss Hyde-Clare’s tragic tale of thwarted love. Re-reading the lines, there was no doubt in his mind about _who_ must have placed the notice, but it immediately begged the question of _why_ Miss Hyde-Clare had felt the need to slay her former suitor so cruelly.

Without allowing himself to think too deeply upon his motivations, the Duke called for his carriage and drove himself to the Hyde-Clare’s townhouse in London, ostensibly to offer his respects in relation to Miss Hyde-Clare’s loss. Upon arriving, however, he frowned with perplexity as he observed the young lady in question leaving the house most surreptitiously with her maid in tow. 

With an expression of amusement in his eyes, he watched as Beatrice hailed a hack with remarkably efficiency. Her maid eyed the driver warily as Beatrice climbed in and then with evident reluctance, clambered in after her mistress. 

He followed them at a distance, watching as they pulled up before Montagu House, which housed the British Museum.

“What mischief are you up to now, Miss Hyde-Clare?” he muttered beneath his breath, smiling despite himself. He gave up trying to understand or even question why her activities intrigued him so much and he handed the reins to Jenkins.

“I think I feel the need to enlighten my mind with some reading, Jenkins,” he advised his groom coolly who only grinned back, a knowing twinkle in his weathered face.

“I’ll walk the horses until you return, your grace,” and Kesgrave entered the British museum in search of the redoubtable and most indefatigable Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare.


	4. Under A Restive Fig Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after "A Nefarious Engagement"

_"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."_  
\- William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

The Viscount Nuneaton raised a quizzical eyebrow as he bespied Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare sitting alone and most decorously beneath a fig tree in a slightly removed area of the ballroom, regarding the ballroom's activities with her calm and clear-eyed gaze. Her hair expression was deceptively demure and her slender hands were clasped in her lap in uncharacteristic stillness.

It was unusual to see the woman on her own as she was generally accompanied by her devoted fiancé the Duke of Kesgrave, a member of her family eager to ensure that she did not disgrace herself (again) and bring unwanted attention upon her person ... or swarmed by members of society anxious to curry favour with the future Duchess of Kesgrave.

"Do you mind if I join you, Miss Hyde-Clare? It is a rare honour to be able to enjoy a moment with you - untroubled by the hordes of the social-climbing ton," he remarked drolly.

She gestured to the seat beside her. "This is my fig tree of exile, Viscount Nuneaton," she told him calmly. "If you survey the room, you will see that stationed at various critical vantage points are members of my family – all of whom have me under constant surveillance - ready to intervene in an instant."

"How unjust," Nuneaton sympathised and she laughed out loud, scandalising her onlookers.

"Not unjust at all given that on one occasion I was involved in a scuffle and a conflagration with a peer of the ton and on another occasion, after being throttled on the dancefloor, I unmasked the villain who murdered my parents ..."

"You are a lightning rod for ..."

"Trouble?" she quizzed him.

"I was going to say - eventfulness and all things fascinating," he corrected with a sincere smile.

She cast him a reproving glance. "Had we not an agreement, my lord that we would not flatter one another?"

"And as I keep reminding you, dear Lady Bea - friends accept genuine compliments." 

Nuneaton glanced over and smiled as he saw the Duke walk towards them from across the ballroom.

"Warning - possessive Duke on the approach."

Bea choked back a laugh.

Kesgrave was scowling somewhat as he drew nearer. "This is looking to be the most populated fig tree in the ballroom, Bea. Your family had me to understand that you would be exiled to the most removed of foliage to minimise your potential for disaster."

Nuneaton looked amused when Bea looked up and with a humorous quirk to her lips announced pertly," _I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you._ "

Without hesitation, lips twitching, Kesgrave replied," _What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?_ "

Nuneaton was torn between hilarity and rising horror at his friend's words, even as he knew the Duke to be quoting from the Bard.

" _Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?_ " Bea countered promptly, clearly entirely unoffended by his rejoinder.

At that, the Viscount burst out laughing. "Ah the pair of you. Kesgrave - I feel that I should call you out for your incivility to my dear Lady Bea while at the same time exclaiming bravo for such a masterful and original performance of Beatrice & Benedick..."

Kesgrave's face darkened. "First, Nuneaton I might ask why you sit in company 'neath this fig tree with the ape leader to whom I am affianced." This made Beatrice choke with laughter. "Secondly, I must ask you name your seconds - for who gave you leave to refer to the lady in such familiar terms as Lady Bea."

"I did, Kesgrave," Bea told him loftily. "Nuneaton and I are friends."

"And on that note, I fear I am now entirely _de trop_ ," Nuneaton murmured, bowing low over Bea's hand and kissing it teasingly, with a provocative glance at his friend who scowled at him as the irreverent Viscount took his leave of them both.

"I wonder that you can suffer his presence," Kesgrave remarked without malice even as he made a show of glowering at the Viscount's departing figure.

"I find him entertaining - and he is your friend after all. And kind to me even before the ton decided I was worthy of knowing due to my connexion with someone so lofty as yourself, your grace."

"You have always been worthy," he told her with warmth in his eyes that kindled and blazed even though they were in a crowded ballroom and it was not the time nor the place.

" _For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?_ " she asked him archly and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Now you are simply fishing for compliments, brat," he told her, the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice softening his words as she laughed up at him.

"Why are you here, your grace?" she asked him. "Has my aunt not also advised you that it is entirely bourgeois for an affianced couple to spend so much time together and actually appear fond of one another? My already dire reputation is going to be positively in tatters at this rate," she informed him coolly.

"I would have left you alone to your fig tree banishment but seeing you flirt outrageously with that cursed Nuneaton required me to intervene," he told her outrageously and she laughed.

"We were not flirting and you well know it."

"There was a star danced, and under that _you_ were born," he misquoted most deliberately, love and affection brimming in his dark blue eyes.

She extended her hand to him and he raised it to his lips and kissed it as she spoke. " _Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably_ ," she told him. 

To the bemusement of those around them, the madcap couple had taken to quoting and misquoting from _Much Ado About Nothing_ on a regular basis.

Kesgrave was indeed the Benedick to Beatrice's Beatrice, although both misused and misappropriated the declarations of both characters with shameless impunity, twisting the words to suit their purposes at the time and claiming the words of the other for their own as desired.

With a look of long-suffering, Kesgrave allowed himself to be summoned away, his blue eyes promising his beloved that they would be reunited again soon.

“I assure you, it was not my fault that they joined me over here,” Bea told Fleur as her cousin came to her side after her dance with one of her many admirers.

Fleur gave a delicious gurgle of laughter. “La Bea, as if it mattered to me. Mama may pout and frown as much as she likes – I remain in awe of your escapades and antics. I think it a shame that mama continues to insist on banishing you to sit beneath ballroom vegetation.”

“I daresay the ton has already started to remark upon it,” Bea remarked to her cousin pensively.

“Oh yes, they are styling you The Lady of the Fig Tree.”

“Better than fig leaves, I suppose,” Bea murmured irrepressibly. “Now that would be scandalous,” and Fleur laughed out loud to the disapproval of her frowning mother. “Oh dear, Aunt Vera is no doubt vexed that I am corrupting her beloved daughter,” Bea said _sotto voce_ even though no one was within earshot.

“I am an enthusiastic student, I assure you,” Fleur assured her. “We all looked on in rapt attention as the Duke, clearly jealous of Viscount Nuneaton’s attentions came to chase him way from your side.”

“Nonsense. Kesgrave knows there is nothing in it – we are friends and Nuneaton is a bored and indolent dandy who finds scandal and adventure diverting.”

Fleur cast her cousin a laughing glance as she allowed herself to be escorted back to the dancefloor by a young man in a deep sapphire coat.

“I am not dancing tonight, your grace,” when Kesgrave returned a little time later to extend his hand to her in gallant invitation.

“I refuse to allow your aunt to relegate my future wife to the status of a wall flower … or worse - a mere accessory to a large potted plant.”

" _Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me_ ," she murmured soulfully. 

Flagrantly ignoring Aunt Vera’s glares, Kesgrave led Bea out onto the ballroom floor for the waltz. His arm went about her waist and he held her the precise distance dictated by society and yet the manner in which they gazed into one another’s eyes and the undeniable desire and love between them made onlookers blush and mutter in a combination of envy and outrage.

“Demned unfashionable to be in love with one’s future wife, if you ask me. Almost to the point of being unnatural,” one man was heard to mutter to his friend who nodded furiously.

“The way he looks up on her, you’d think she was a Cyprian or his mistress,” one of the horrified dowagers commented to the gaggle of women beside her who nodded emphatically, not sure if they were more horrified by Bea’s plainness or the open displays of affection.

Oblivious to the chatter and the stares, Bea and her Duke waltzed with one another as though no other people were present in the ballroom.

“I hope you can’t mind so much that you won’t have a large and opulent wedding, Bea … “ he remarked, his eyes warm with promise and significance.

“I can’t think of anything worse, Damien … If I had my way, we’d hasten it off to Gretna Green …”

“And be wed before a blacksmith?” he asked her in amusement.

“Yes .. with strangers to bear witness… for I cannot bear to think of the critical eyes of the ton … staring at me … judging me. Pitying you.”

“Since when have either of us had a care for the views of the ton?” he asked her. “You scarce give a thought to my importance and grandeur, brat,” he teased her.

That made her laugh out loud and his arm tightened about her waist, pulling her a little closer than decorum permitted.

“ _I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?”_ she asked him, quoting Benedick.

The Duke smiled down at her, a world of promise and love I his blue eyes. “ _As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing._ ”

When the waltz was over, the Duke escorted his lady back to her mandatory seat under the restive fig tree – although he scandalised the ton by dropping a light and lingering kiss on her lips before he surrendered her back into the arms of her family.


	5. Nuneaton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set some time after _A Nefarious Engagement_. No idea why. Just felt like writing this scribble about the Viscount Nuneaton.

As usual, the ton looked on in a mix of awe and horror as the Duke of Kesgrave waltzed with his betrothed, Miss Beatrice Hyde-Clare. Even the most charitable of commentators could only describe her as lively and intelligent given that her physical attributes were sadly unexceptionable. Brown eyed, narrow browed with limp hair of an indeterminate colour she was certainly not a diamond of the first or even the second water. She was also not an heiress. Thus, almost everyone continued to be thoroughly bewildered about what had drawn a man like Damien Matlock, Duke of Kesgrave to such a nonentity.

Almost everyone. Certainly, not everyone. 

Michael Barrington, Viscount Nuneaton stood at the edge of the dance floor watching the couple with an air of studied indifference. Tall, impeccably dressed, brown hair closely cropped, he was as handsome as he was fashionable. A number of young ladies eyed him wistfully, wishing that he would ask them to dance instead of merely standing on the sidelines watching Kesgrave dancing with the insipid Miss Hyde-Clare.

“I did try, Nuneaton. I had you on my list,” a cool voice remarked archly and he turned his head in surprise to glance at Matilda, Countess of Abercrombie who had come to stand by his side. Beautiful as ever, she of the brooding eyes offset by a pert nose, heart-shaped face with full, pouting lips. Her glossy black curls were piled on the top of her head, tumbling down in calculated disarray around her slender shoulders in a way that made a man long to tangle them around his hand and draw her closer. Her gown was elegant, eye-catching and revealing. Even though she was significantly older than he was, she was still lovely and alluring.

“Your list?” he asked her curiously. 

“For Beatrice,” she said, gesturing a slender white hand towards Bea. 

The always unconventional couple, rather than affecting the studied coolness and disinterest expected of couples on the dancefloor were clearly arguing … or rather debating with one another as they waltzed. Bea’s face was slightly flushed with indignation while Kesgrave looked genuinely amused, making the occasional remark, designed to provoke her further. 

“Yet again, your pomposity only exceeds your stubborn determination to hold a position that is thoroughly untenable,” Bea could be heard berating him as the Duke laughed aloud. Onlookers gasped in horror at Bea’s comment, but then later she was also heard to laugh at something the Duke said to tease her.

“Why on earth did you have a list?” 

Lady Abercrombie shrugged. “It was to help Beatrice forget her _tendre_ for Kesgrave … As I had assumed she had no chance of securing his affections, I drew up a list of potential alternate love affairs for her … “

“I’m flattered I made the list,” Nuneaton said dryly with a courtly bow.

“You were number six on the list.”

Nuneaton lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not certain of the implications of the ranking.” His gaze returned to Bea’s face. The debate had taken a playful turn and she was giving a chuckle of laughter in response to something that Kesgrave had just said. “Although you and I both know Tilly that I never had a chance. She has never had eyes for anyone except Kesgrave. Right from when they both first met at Lakeview Hall.”

“And was that when you first met her as well?” Lady Abercrombie asked gently.

Nuneaton nodded, smiling reminiscently. “To be frank, I had not really noted her presence during our first few encounters… she was so quiet and unassuming, fading into the background and very much pushed aside by her family. But by George, you should have seen her the day that my cousin Andrew hit her on the head with a wooden plank and locked her in a shed … Miss Hyde-Clare saved herself and fought her own way out of the shed – emerging triumphant albeit bloodied, bruised and very much the worse for her wear.” His voice was filled with warm admiration and amusement.

“Was that when Kesgrave became enamoured of her?” Lady Abercrombie questioned.

Nuneaton frowned slightly and shook his head. “I don’t think so. The two of them were clearly drawn to one another … there was a spark of mutual recognition of sorts … but initially I think he found her something of a diverting quiz. They were continually locking horns and arguing – to the horror of her aunt who was constantly trying to push her back into the background.”

Lady Abercrombie made a sound of disgust. “My poor Clara would have been horrified at the way Vera Hyde-Clare has attempted to stifle and extinguish Beatrice’s spark.”

Nuneaton laughed. “Well she has failed miserably for Miss Hyde-Clare is the most lively and intriguing young woman of my acquaintance … her spark remains most unquenchable and strong.” 

Matilda Abercrombie lifted a shapely eyebrow. “I had no idea that your affections were thus engaged, Michael.”

“You have a vivid imagination, Tilly my dearest,” he told her gently.

“Your affectation of bored indolence may have done you a disservice,” she told him with equal gentleness and he looked rueful. 

“Look at them, Tilly. Have you ever seen such a strong bond? Beatrice has never thought of me as anything other than an entertaining companion. In any case, Kesgrave saw the flame and passion within her first … recognising a kindred spirit of sorts.”

“They are certainly well-matched despite the disparity in their appearances and social standing,” Lady Abercrombie said thoughtfully. 

“Never let Kesgrave hear you disparage his beloved,” Nuneaton said with a faint a smile. “He almost called out Thornton yesterday for referring to Beatrice as a plain-faced, social-climbing baggage.”

Lady Abercrombie laughed in genuine amusement. “From what I gather, you were also close to calling the gentleman out for the same.”

“Guilty,” Nuneaton conceded honestly. “I admit, the man’s comments filled me with rage. 

As Beatrice and Kesgrave concluded their dance and walked towards Nuneaton and Lady Abercrombie, the latter cast Nuneaton a very mischievous glance and said,”Kesgrave - you have neglected me shockingly of late. I must insist that you dance with me now,” she told him imperiously.

“I have been commanded, my love,” Kesgrave told his beloved apologetically and she nodded with gracious generosity, indicating that he should follow the command.

“Would you care to take a walk out on the balcony, Beatrice?” Nuneaton asked her. “The room is warmer than usual.”

“That sounds like a marvellous idea,” she agreed and the two walked out onto the balcony, away from the noise and crush of the ball. “Whatever were you and Lady Abercrombie speaking about so earnestly? Whenever I looked towards you, you were deep in conversation. People will be thinking that you are her latest flirt,” she teased him.

Nuneaton gave a short chuckle. “To be honest, we were speaking of you, sweetest Beatrice,” he told her lightly.

“Me?” she demanded, looking genuinely astonished, her brown eyes widening in surprise.

“Yes you,” he told her reaching out a hand to brush a brown curl from her face. “Tilly was telling me I was apparently relegated to number six in your list of potential beaux.”

“Oh dear ... she told you?” Bea demanded, looking torn between hilarity and humiliation. 

“Yes. I wasn’t certain whether to be mortified or heartened that I was number six on the list.”

Bea laughed. “I’m not sure there was any science in the ranking,” she assured him. “In any case, rest assured that it was never serious at all. It was merely something that Lady Abercrombie felt incumbent on her to do as part of her mentorship of me. You and I should never have suited.”

“You wound me greatly,” he said archly.

She cast him a reproving glare. “Now do not tease me, Lord Nuneaton. You know that someone such as me would never aspire to a man of the ton as yourself.”

He arched a brow. “Says the future Duchess of Kesgrave.”

She gave a burst of laughter. “But Kesgrave is … well he’s just Kesgrave,” she said simply, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “Despite his title …” her voice trailed off and she shrugged with charming affection.

“He is to be envied,” Nuneaton told her frankly and she stared at him with a shocked look in her eyes.

Nuneaton smiled at her ruefully, his brown eyes warm and speaking. “I fear I took too long to come to the recognition of your charm and loveliness, my dear. And during my tardiness ... well one more worthy was able to claim your hand.”

Bea flushed and held out her hand. “We are friends, Lord Nuneaton.”

He took her hand in his and held it. “I wish that you would call me Michael,” he told her, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to her hand.

“And I wish that you would release my future wife’s hand and keep your damned lips to yourself,” Kesgrave said sternly from behind them.

Bea pulled her hand back swiftly and Nuneaton straightened unhurriedly, his expression cool and detached. 

“Ah Kesgrave, it’s so unfashionable of you to be jealous,” he remarked lightly.

Kesgrave lifted an eyebrow and studied his friend with acidly, a look of comprehension in his blue eyes.

“I remain your humble and obedient servant, dearest Bea,” Nuneaton told her warmly, bowing once before taking his leave of her.

“You know you really shouldn’t encourage him in his affection of you, brat,” Kesgrave remarked severely, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her against him.

Bea looked genuinely astonished. “Nuneaton? Affection? For me? Surely you jest, Damien. We are friends – he is a kind man … and I have so few friends.”

Kesgrave winced a little. It was true enough. Nuneaton was one of the few members in society with whom Bea was able to be herself and he felt a hint of compunction at the thought of removing even that pleasure from Bea’s life.

“I have no desire to be an overbearing ogre,” he conceded with an air of generosity, even though his eyes danced in self-mockery. “Continue your friendship with Nuneaton … I will do my best to contain my jealousy.”

Bea laughed incredulously. “You have no need for jealousy,” she assured him, her eyes dark with emotion and he lowered his head to kiss her lingeringly. The two were lost to the world and Nuneaton’s mouth twisted slightly as he cast them one final glance before returning to the ballroom.


End file.
